


Tasting the Midnight Sun

by BethAdastra



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/M, Guest Starring A Bottle of Alcohol, Interspecies Awkwardness, Interspecies Sex, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethAdastra/pseuds/BethAdastra
Summary: Sara and Tiran meet up to share drinks and battle stories, but things don't go according to plan.First chapter is T; second chapter is E.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have not finished Andromeda yet. Small edits may occur to accommodate plot details. They won't affect the good stuff, I just happen to love exposition.

The clip of the Architect roaring over Voeld came to an end, and Tiran Kandros was shaking his head. Sara swiped the vid off of her onmitool screen, and shut the device off. Overhead, the lights of Vortex lounge flickered; the soft orange light was a welcome contrast to the icy blues and greens of Voeld.

“Is that how all of your missions usually go, Pathfinder?”

“Not nearly as much radio chatter as an APEX run.” Sara grinned.

A salarian waitress slid two large glasses onto their table before he could respond. They both nodded in thanks, and turned their heads to their respective cocktails. Neither of them bothered to ask what the other was drinking. It didn’t matter how good the cocktail was. They knew it would be some unappetizing name made up by the bartenders, and when it came to drinking in Andromeda, ignorance was bliss.

Kandros lifted his head from his cup after a few moments. “I don’t know how you do it. Just watching was stressful enough.”

Sara grinned, and leaned back in her chair. Before she fully knew what she was saying, she babbled, “You could always play hooky and take a ride on the Tempest if you want to find out.”

Tiran gave her a _look._ It wasn’t the look of a chastising parent, but it also wasn’t one that made her feel like a superior was looking down on her. In the low lighting of the bar, he looked… distinctly hungry, and she came to the realization that she wasn’t at all bothered that she enjoyed the look. 

His mandibles flared for a moment, and he reached for his drink. “You,” he murmured while raising the glass up at her, “are positively suicidal.”

There was something about the way he said it that made her think that he was paying her a compliment.

She lifted her own glass, and the two of them enjoyed their small moment in silence.

Kandros was a professional, through and through. Ever since taking over the Nexus militia, he had shackled himself to the job. Datapads constantly flew on and off his desk. The APEX terminal was constantly beeping, and security footage filled the screens that dotted the office. And whenever Ryder stopped by, he always seemed to be on some sort of call, or snapping at one of his deputies.

\---Earlier That Day---

“Talk to me Kandros. What’s really bothering you?” The young Pathfinder crossed her arms. The turian had been more prickly than usual when she stopped by. What usually passed as soothing baritone in his voice came out all grit and acid.

“Rearranging my strike teams has been a pain in the ass. Addison can’t fill security rosters fast enough planetside, and I’m running out of time to get feet on the ground. Most of them are too green.”

Kandros was scowling over a datapad, while Sara sat on a scuffed up crate. Their weekly vent sessions had become more of a daily occurrence, now that Eos and Voeld had outposts. Sara had run herself ragged with making the planets viable, and it had been only recently that they were able to cash in on her success. With great success came great responsibility, and in this situation, responsibility came in the form of Tann riding both of their asses.

Fight the enemy. Get the outpost. Wake the sleepers. Get back to work. Lather, rinse, repeat.

She never said it out loud, but being Pathfinder was slowly eating away at her.

Sara could have avoided the Nexus entirely, and locked herself away to her private quarters if alone time was all she wanted. She had tried to unwind and take breaks. Really. She tried the Tempest movie nights. She tried running on a treadmill until her legs gave out. She gave the yoga poses, Nomad repairs, and asinine asari quotes a try to help clear her mind. 

But there was something about unwinding on the Tempest that made it feel like work.

So, here she was, hiding out in the Nexus security offices, surrounded by work and talking about work, and trying to forget about it at the same time. And she was doing surprisingly well so far, considering the company that she was keeping.

Tiran’s foul mood hung heavy, like the weather on Habitat 7. Sara had to bite back a smile when she thought of electric charges shooting from his eyes and fingertips at the mention of Addison or Tann.

Without even thinking about it, she gave him a peace offering.

“Want to talk about it over a drink? I have a feeling you could use it, and I still haven’t been to Vortex now that it’s opened.”

The turian set the datapad down, and pinched the small bridge of his nose. He let out a huff of air, and leaned against the nearby terminal.

“I’m going to be here all evening. I’ve got reports of kett movement on Eos, and enough datapads to go through that I’m actually debating waking more cryo pods just to get the work done.”

“It’s just a drink, Kandros. Besides, I hear last call is zero-hundred, and you can bet that if I find out you’re still here at midnight playing etch-a-sketch, I’ll personally drag your ass out of this office.”

He didn’t look fully convinced. She tried appealing to the soldier side of him.

“I’ll show you that classified vid that I took on Voeld of the remnant fight. And if you happen to show up and order a drink? I’ll buy.”

His mandibles twitched, and she smirked. No way a turian of his upbringing could resist classified battle footage. It was almost unfair.

“Alright, you got me. But it’s just for one drink, and I get to see the vid first.”

“Done.”

\---

“Kandroooos!” 

A towering woman strolled up to their table. If Ryder remembered correctly, she was an APEX engineer. Hawa Something-Or-Other. She was friendly enough, if one could get past her booming voice and the massive burn scar that crawled across half of her face and discolored her warm umber skin. 

Now, she could almost swear that the woman’s voice was an octave higher. And she was wearing a dress. And actually smiling. _Ah, the transformative powers of alcohol._

“Hawa.” Kandros said. She grinned and pointed her thumb at her commander while talking to Sara. 

“Good to see you, Pathfinder! Are you out celebrating too? Please tell me you finally twisted his arm into coming here and letting loose. He’s got a stick up his ass.” Her brows wiggled.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t-“ 

“Oh, can it Kandros! You could use the distraction.” Hawa’s laugh was accompanied by three more militia members, all dressed in civvies and equally drunk. Kandros played the silent card, and let his strike team giggle and banter.  
Sara watched with a shit-eating grin, and ran her finger around the rim of her glass, answering Hawa’s questions about her job, and playing into their cheerful mood.

The roar of the crowd came and went as the night passed, but only a handful of words passed between Ryder and Kandros.

That changed when a disgruntled turian bumped into Hawa, and told the soldiers to watch it. An asari told him to shove off, and then another person gave an eloquent description of what her mother could go do to herself. And then a krogan seemed to magically appear, and it all went to shit. A fist flew, glass shattered, and a grisly rainbow of blood spattered the corner that Kandros and Ryder occupied.

Kandros rose just as two bouncers arrived on the scene. He gripped Hawa and another woman by the arms, and turned to Sara. It looked like he’d have to escort them out of the facility.

“What is that phrase you use… duty calls?” There was an apology laced in his words.

Sara looked down at her almost-full drink, debating her choices. She could stay at the lounge and finish her mystery drink. She could leave with them, and head back to her room on Hyperion. Or she could go with them and have an adventure on the tram line.

The decision was instinct. She pushed her drink away, and nodded at the departing party. Adjusting her jacket, she slipped out of her chair, and joined them. A very large tip was left on a credit chit when the table was cleared.

Everybody crammed into the train; most of the passengers were bargoers who had overstayed their welcome, and workers just finishing their shifts. Sara followed Tiran. Even as he watched over his off-duty team, every now and then, he’d pull his eyes away from the cats that he herded, to see that she was still there. And every time their eyes met, she wandered closer, and closer.

Somehow, by the time they had come to the third stop, she had secured a spot nearly next to him. She was surrounded by overheated bodies and noise, but the window was only a few inches from her, and the darkness, interrupted by only a few patterns of lights, was comforting. She wanted to lean on somebody, give in to the tiredness that had been slowly growing ever since she rose from her sleeping pod. She wanted to lean on Tiran. To keep herself from dozing off, she rifled a hand through her hair, and undid her ponytail. It was beginning to give her a headache, and the motion of her hair brushing her shoulder helped her feel more like plain old Sara, instead of Sara Ryder the Human Pathfinder.

The tram lurched to a stop.

Tiran’s arm circled around her shoulders, and tugged her close before one of the many freefalling passengers could knock her over. Her cheek rubbed against the warm, smooth leather of his jacket, and she tried not to think about the fact that her fingers were tightly gripping the fabric cinched at his waist.

The lights had flickered out, and the small space was filled with breathless laughter and a smattering of groans.

A calm, automated voice echoed overhead.

_“The Nexus Beta Power Grid is experiencing power fluctuations. Please stand by while we resolve this issue.”_

Somebody made a bawdy joke about calling facilities. Another smartly retorted, saying he was off the clock. More laughter, a minute or two passed with the occassional grind of metal and electricity, and the car was moving again.

The crush of bodies swayed back and forth ever so slightly, and it was just enough to tip their unfortunate engineer friend off balance. She let out a bawdy laugh and didn’t bother to get up nearly as quickly as she should have. A handful of other last-call partygoers shared in the laugh, and stumbled around to make room for her. One woman held out an arm to help her back up, and they receded into the language of giggles and hand signals that can only be spoken when one has been drinking all night.

Sara sucked in the hot air of the tram through her nose and held it as if she would die if she did otherwise. Tiran leaned over her, his keel bone pressing painfully into her shoulder, and smelling of turian liquor and something else that was just alien enough that she couldn’t put her finger on it. And oh, how she wanted to put her finger on whatever it was.

_Whoa now, down girl._

As the car regained speed, Hawa made comments about the red and blue lights, and how hungry she suddenly was.

For the next ten minutes, between the Nexus commons and the quarters, Sara kept her eyes turned firmly away from Tiran and refusing to move an inch while the others scuffled out at each stop. And Tiran didn’t budge either.

By the time Hawa’s stop arrived, they were nearly on the furthest end of the Nexus. Only four or five people were left, and they all stumbled out together, each to find their comfortable and well-earned rest. As if torn out of a trance, Sara grabbed the closest empty seat, and nestled herself there.

Hawa groaned, fidgeting with the omnitool bracelet, trying to unlock an apartment door that hadn’t appeared yet.

“I’m so hungry. Are we going to get food?”

“Its almost one-hundred hour. Everything’s closed,” Tiran chided.

“Ugggghhhhhhh!” Hawa snapped her omnitool off and tugged down on the hem of her skirt.

Less than a minute later, they rolled to the final stop on the line to living quarters. All of the lights were on at full daytime brightness, which made them all scowl and cover their faces.

_Some of the Nexus quarters still have permanent daytime lighting. Damn._

Hawa gripped the doorway, and turned to her escorts. 

“You sure you guys don’t wanna crash? I’ve got pillows and a couch,” she waved sloppily at the lights, “though you’d need a blindfold… or some more alcohol.”

Sara smiled. “Thanks, but no thanks. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow. Get yourself in bed and rest. You earned it.”

The woman let loose a sigh of relief. “You’re always welcome, but let me tell you, it’s a relief not having to host my boss and a Pathfinder on a night like tonight…” 

She tapered off, and turned away to find her bunk. Both Kandros and Ryder had an unspoken suspicion that no amount of fluorescent lighting would keep her from sleeping tonight. After seeing her walk the length of the hall without stumbling, he hit the door control and set a command to return to Operations. Sara kept her eyes averted; they had to make the trip all the way back in an empty tram, and she wasn’t ready to face him.

A full five minutes of silence passed between them before the turian cracked.

“Early morning tomorrow?”

Sara flushed only slightly. “No. But it’s the easiest way to get people off my back without sounding rude.”

Tiran gave an awkward laugh. Another full minute of silence.

“I’m sorry about grabbing you-“ “Did you want to get a coffee-“

They spoke at the same time, like a pair of idiots, which in that exact moment, they were. They held each other’s gaze, and burst into laughter. Kandros held out a hand, palm up, encouraging her to speak first.

Sara rifled a hand through her hair, and shook her head. “Sorry… did you want to get a nightcap? We didn’t really get to enjoy our victory drinks. Least I can do is send you off with some food or some alcohol, especially after this train ride.”

The look returned, and Kandros crossed his arms while he thought it over.

“You got a place in mind? Almost everything is closed.”

Sara spoke up before she had the time to think about what she was saying.

“I was thinking my place.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tiran looked at her long enough to make her wonder if he had heard her. Sara wondered if her face was bright pink, or if her skin was shiny with sweat.

“I was thinking my place.”

_Yeah, way to go for subtlety, Sara._

He was still staring.

_Look at him, you’re being so unprofessional! Shut your mouth before you say something even dumber!_

“Okay, but on one condition.”

Sara froze; her breath caught in her chest. Keeping things casual was getting more and more difficult as each second passed.

“Alright, what is it, Kandros?”

He chuckled, and pointed a finger at her.

“Don’t call me Kandros. Or, if you have to, save it for work. I’m off the clock, and I’d like to keep it that way for a bit. For now, call me Tiran.”

Warmth seeped from her cheeks to her nose and ears, so she looked away and tousled her hair to hide the blush.

“Fair enough. If I get to call you Tiran, you can call me Sara.”

The tram slowed. They had reached the Hyperion dock.

Sara quickly stood, and led the way. She shrugged her shoulders beneath her jacket, trying to rid herself of the stiffness that had taken hold while she played statue.

She thanked her lucky stars when no people were to be found wandering the ship; most of the crew was fast asleep, and the graveyard shift was busy with the cryo pods. 

Sara ignored the twinge of guilt that appeared when they walked past SAM node. She was grateful that she and the AI had come to an agreement about letting her keep her head to herself as long as she wasn’t on a mission or having her life threatened. The fact that neither had happened the entire evening was a rare treat… So why couldn’t she shake the feeling of being a rebellious teen that left behind a younger sibling? By the time they entered the apartment, the feeling had disappeared.

Tiran nodded appreciatively at the gun case. Sara left him there, waving a hand and saying, “Feel free to give them a try. Heavens knows I’m not around here enough to play with them.”

He chuckled, and as Sara rounded the corner to rummage through the kitchen, she heard the glass of the case slide open. To keep the silence from treading into awkward territory, she babbled.

“I’m sure I have something suitable for you to drink here. I’ve got stuff for all my crew members whenever we meet here to debrief. Having a snack makes report writing go much quicker.”

“Is that so?,” she heard the cheerful click of the M8 having its already-empty thermal clip popped out, “Joke on the station is that the Ryder’s run solely on coffee. How did you manage to get turian liquor?”

“Nyx knows how to come through. After arriving, she set me up with all the good stuff for the crew… Ryncol, beer, tea, wine, coffee- aha!” She held a bottle of mead up, feeling victorious.

The mead was naturally dual-chirality. It had been a miscount in the turian food stores, and Vetra, being the ever-resourceful turian that she was, had gifted it to Sara.

_“No reason to send it back into hiding. It’s good product. Not my type of drink, too sweet. You can put it to better use, Ryder.”_

She walked past the bookshelf, holding the mead and two small glasses, and nodded at the couch and chair nearby.

Tiran was looking through one of her scope mods, somehow managing to look dangerous and silly at the same time. She grinned, and shook the bottle as if taunting him to try shooting the drink out of her hand.

While she struggled to remove the cap from the bottle, she heard the delicate click of the gun case closing, and his tall shadow pass overhead while he took a seat on the couch.

She poured a generous two fingers into each of the glasses, took one for herself, and held it up. Tiran took his, and his three-taloned hand made the glass look ridiculously small.

“This… is expensive-looking.”

“Drink up, Kandros.”

He did so without hesitation. His mandibles pinched close to his teeth as he threw both his head and the entire drink back. Before the glass returned to its resting spot, he growled, “Your turn.”

Not to be outdone, Sara, lifted her own glass, and mock-saluted him.

The mead was spicy. And much more bitter than she expected. She tried not to think about the ugly wincing face she made. Or the laugh that Tiran barked out while he poured a second dose for each of them.

This time, they drank at the same time, but savored it over several sips, rather than one clumsy chug. With each sip, Sara found the drink to become less bitter, and much sweeter. It was a dry, warm flavor that reminded her of late summer sunshine. By the time the drink was gone, she felt like she was basking in it.

When she finally turned to Tiran, she found him appraising her with that damn look again. She smirked, and crossed her arms, daring him to say something. The silence stretched out a mere five seconds before the turian gave in.

“Something’s on your mind, Pathfinder. Spill it.” It was almost too easy.

She rewarded his curiosity by asking a question of her own.

“Why do you make that face?”

“What face?” 

“That look. You get this _look_ on your face, and sometimes you make it at me and I don’t know what it means… I don’t know if its just a turian thing or I’m being rude or what…” she babbled, raising her arms in a buzzed pantomime.

Sober Sara would have chastised herself for being so undiplomatic. But Sober Sara was being scrubbed away by Drunk Sara with a bucket of mead and spare rifle parts.

“Your hair.”

Her head jerked back in surprise.

“What?”

“Your hair. It’s always… up,” he gestured at his own fringe, “I didn’t see a human with a ponytail until after I joined the Initiative.”

Sara tilted her head, and brushed a hand through it, suddenly feeling self conscious. And more than a little brave.

“You can touch it, if you want.” She let the laugh roll over her tongue and replace the taste of spiced honey. “But just this once. Got a reputation to keep.”

That drew a low, warm thrum from the turian. She prayed was some sort of chuckle. She stood up, and carefully placed herself on the arm of the couch next to Tiran. She wanted to say something, crack a joke or warn him not to make it weird, but all the words caught in her throat as his hand came to rest just below her jaw, achingly close to her jugular.

“Honestly, you look like a different person with your hair down.”

His fingers brushed through the strands, tentative and reverent. Sara tried her damndest not to lean into him or let him know just how much she enjoyed it.

And then that cursed scent came back; the one that she knew was the distinct brand of Tiran Kandros that she couldn’t figure out. It was not quite sweet, and not quite bitter. It lingered on the roof of her mouth, and made her draw her tongue slowly across the back of her teeth and breathe in deep through her nose.

She distracted herself by grousing. “Yeah, well, you’d look like a different person if you didn’t have those plates and that fringe.”

His hand paused mid-stroke, and withdrew.

“You may want to reword that. Talking about a turian without plates is… well…”

Sara stared blankly.

“A bit of a sexual innuendo.” He drew out each word very slowly and very carefully, as if he were teasing her.

If she didn’t already have a deep red flush on her cheeks, now she did.

She sputtered and drew back, but Tiran laughed, and tapped her arm.

“No harm done. We’re both adults. Besides, better you say something like that now, rather than in front of another Pathfinder. Or the Archon.”

“You’re an awful turian and I hope you get a hangover.”

“Sorry, Ryder. Being the youngest in my family meant I never got to tease anyone. Really, I’m sorry. And hey, for being such an ass, I’ll let you touch my fringe as payback.”

Her fingers were already rising to the back of his head when she asked, “You sure?”

He smirked. “Just this once. Got a reputation to keep.”

For a few seconds, she only touched the smoothed points of his fringe. The hide was cool and pale against her own rough, small hands. But curiosity slid her hands further down to where the fringe met his facial plates. He kept his brow and mandibles still, letting her explore. She knew he was watching her, so she kept her eyes firmly on the path drawn by her fingertips. From the back, along the smooth ridge of plate and hide, and back again, and around, and under-

Tiran breathed in sharply when her fingers brushed the underside of his fringe. At some point during her small exploration, one of his own hands had found its way to her thigh, and now he was gripping her tightly. When she didn’t pull her hand away, and instead pressed the pads of her fingers against the barely-softer hide on the underside, a deep, primal rumble echoed from deep within his chest and shook all the way through her. When she caught his eye, she saw that his eyes were hazy and dark.

She leaned in, and his hands rose up to her waist. Her breathing was shaky, and her hands slipped down to his cowl. Tiran’s continued to wander, back up to her shoulders and hair, and he pulled her dangerously close.

“Sara.” 

She so little experience with turian subharmonics, but she could hear the demand and plea wrapped up together in his voice, and she couldn’t stand it any longer.

Her mouth pressed against his, hot and demanding. And while he didn’t have the anatomy to fully reciprocate it, the sinuous twist of his head and the firm grip of his fists in her hair was more than encouraging. Before she could fully control what she was doing, she was pressing forward, sliding him backwards and down onto the couch while her fingers dragged over his cowl and throat and mandibles and fringe and oh god-

A groan rolled up from deep within his chest, and his arms slid under her own so that he was pressing his palms just below her shoulder blades. It was a simple motion that locked her into place so that she was lying on top of him. She rewarded him by gasping, and parting her lips just enough so that her tongue edged out and traced the delicate blue mark at the center of his mouth.

He tasted of honey and citrus and raw meat and sin. She wanted to devour him.

They went that way for a long time, her lips dragging across his mouth and both of their tongues slipping against each other as easily as if they had been born to do it. It was too soon when he sat up, using his hands to grip her waist and gently press her away. Sitting up, he removed his jacket, and dragged a finger down along Sara’s own to invite her to strip with him. She gave him a raspy, delighted laugh, and shrugged off her coat and scarf and shirt in what felt like record time. But before she could launch herself at him again, his ungloved hands grabbed her hips, and he flipped her over so that he was on top.

Sara didn’t mention the fact that one of his legs was placed perfectly between her own, and that he was already putting enough pressure on her to feel the heat coming from her core. He leaned forward, brushing his mandibles against her throat, and started fumbling with the clasps of her pants. She groaned insistently.

“Bed. Now.” She punctuated each word with a touch of his underfringe, and a jerk of the hips.

“Do you want this?” he murmered thickly into her hair. His hips rolled at a deliciously slow tempo against her own. She didn’t bother to stifle the moan that it drew out, instead riding the hot wave of pleasure made of liquor and turian muscle and bone. She fisted his shirt in both hands and ground herself against his thigh.

“Do you?” he repeated, nipping at her throat and groaning against the pressure from her thighs tightening against his own, “It’s… important to me that you say it.”

Sara continued to grind and pant, and fought to twist her head so that she was looking up at him. Her eyes were burning, and her deep brown hair fell in a messy halo around her head. When she opened her mouth, her voice was low and calm.

“Tiran. I need you. I need you right now.” She rolled her hips again, and added a curt “Please.”

He had her from the couch to the bed in mere seconds. A few seconds more, and both of them had torn their pants away, while Sara struggled to drag her bra off of her shoulders and over her head. Once she was free, Tiran leaned in, a deep purr vibrating between the two of them, and he scooted her legs apart so that he was pressed against her entrance.

Sara looked down, gasping that his member was already out and slick with arousal, and was rubbing obscenely against her hipbone. Chuckling, Tiran brushed a knuckle against her own sex, and the purring sound grew louder and deeper when his hand returned gleaming with her own arousal. 

A mangled sound escaped her. She hooked a leg over his hips, and slid one hand roughly along his keel. He could have easily fought her off, but he let her drag him close enough that they could feel their alien hearts pounding against each other in an off-rhythm drumline. Their tongues met in a sloppy kiss, and it was unspoken but fully understood that the time for foreplay had passed.

Her hand went down to help guide him into her. It felt like an eternity before they made contact, and when they did, the hot pulse of his cock against her entrance sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the temperature.

He thrust into her with one firm motion, and she gripped his shoulders when the movement slid her back along the sheets. Their mating was hard and fast and unrelenting. Neither bothered with sweet words or flirtatious touches, instead, they singularly focused on trying to send the other over the edge through their hips and hands and mouths. Every gasp and groan and yelp was a small victory for his or her partner, and they were both merciless in their attempts to ruin the other.

Sara was the first to fall.

Tiran sensed her tightening like a coiled spring; her hips jerked and rocked, and deep within, he could feel her body squeezing his cock. Her gasps jumped a full octave when he dragged his talons over the soft skin of her waist, and it took the last of what little self-control he had left to keep himself from finishing in her before he got a chance to see her climax.

He thrust hard, once, twice, and the orgasm roared through Sara’s body like wildfire. Her back arched, and she felt pleasure lace through her body, quickly followed by desire for more, and a deep and unavoidable exhaustion.

She clung to her lover as if she feared floating off into space, and focused on memorizing every second of the feeling as he continued to piston against her. Her legs tightened around his waist and she moaned Tiran’s name against the burning-hot skin of his throat.

It snapped him in two. He roared, flashing rows of vicious teeth, and ground his hips mercilessly into hers. By the time he realized he had cum, he was bent over her, shaking, and feeling their mixed fluids dripping down his legs and smeared along hers. The two of them panted and slowed their bodies down, but didn’t fully stop.

Sara’s hands returned to his fringe, and slowly pulled him down. Her vision was foggy with images of snow and sand, and with every inhale and exhale that Tiran took, she felt herself being pulled into a mental gravity well that smothered her ability to think. Tiran remained locked against her, and she couldn’t remember if that was a good or bad thing. She wondered drunkenly if she'd remember to ask SAM or Lexi about it tomorrow... or ever...

She faintly recalled him making a childish sound when his sex retreated back behind his plates, and she probably laughed. Her hand absently dragged down along his back, and she pressed her lips to one of his mandibles. All of her motions were languid and inviting enough to cause Tiran to roll onto the bed beside her, leaving barely enough time for him to stuff a pillow beneath his fringe before sleep took him.

All of the adrenaline from the last few days had finally burnt out for Sara. She couldn’t keep her eyes open. She was done. The alcohol had torn down her walls, Tiran had taken the last of her strength, and now, all she wanted to do was wait for the next 600 years to pass.


End file.
